A Man's Ambition
by ohnojenny
Summary: Greg brings himself to San Francisco in search of the victim of his long-going, shy admiration. But is he really there to prove how much he loves her, or testing how far he'll go to outshine Grissom? Greg's POV. Continuation of "I Am the Better Man."
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation is © Anthony E Zuiker/CBS. Guest characters from other shows are spontaneous and are © their respective owners. None of these characters belong to me. This story is a sequel to "I Am the Better Man."

Author's Note: All right, the continuation of Greg's adventure lives! Just a little note, if you haven't read "I Am the Better Man," you might want to, because it'll help clue you in on what's going on with Greggo. Also, this first chapter is a bit "eeh," only because it's the first chapter. But I have some interesting twists to follow! And, after this posting, the rest of my notes will be posted on my main page, since I hate disrupting your flow of reading. Do hope you enjoy.

A Man's Ambition

Chapter One

"I'm sorry, Sir. It's too heavy."

"What do you mean it's too heavy?"

It was to my dismay that I hadn't remembered what a hassle being in an airport could be until I waited in line at the baggage check. During the weigh-in, they insisted that my messenger bag was too heavy, and couldn't be taken with me on the plane. How could it be too heavy if I was wearing it with ease?

"If I… empty it a little, will it be okay?"

"Of course."

A little agitated, I schlepped it, and my suitcase, to the nearest seat and started moving item by item from my bag into the case. Two minutes later only my laptop remained in my personal bag, and I was set to board. A restful flight… that's what I was looking forward to.

But apparently on the plane, there was this one man in First Class who was driving the flight attendants crazy. I didn't hear what was going on – I was busy sleeping. But what happened about an hour and a half ago doesn't mean much to me now, because –

"San Francisco…" after I had meandered away from my plane and through the corridors of the airport, I gazed through the immensely windowed-walls into the darkness of the morning, spotting nothing more than the dark ocean with fog looming above it. With a wide smile on my face, I closed my eyes and took in a great whiff of the new territory, "… so this is the City by the Bay."

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I turned around to face a man with gentle features and a moustache. Wonder what I'd look like with a moustache…

"Oh… yeah. Well, what I can see of it looks… nice." I couldn't see much.

"No matter where I go, I always find myself coming back… something alluring about this city – intoxicating, almost." The man sighed, and, with a lift of his briefcase, left my side. There's something alluring about this city all right – Sara's in it.

When I arrived at the baggage claim, I scanned the screens for my plane number. Looks like I arrived just in time, because the bags from my flight started to appear. I groaned when I remembered my suitcase was black – and so was everybody else's.

"… Oooh no." I pushed my way through the small crowd to the edge of the conveyor belt, my eyes jumping from bag to bag, "Geez… they all look the same."

"Natalie, my bag isn't here yet." I heard a familiar voice mutter behind me. Only, the last time I heard that voice was in Vegas, "It won't be here for another two minutes."

"Mr. Monk, how can you tell?" his friend was with him – I'd say they were a couple, but… something told me I was Wrong with a capital "W."

"Because. That black bag got on much earlier than my bags did."

"Which black bag?"

"That one… oh, you missed it. It just disappeared. There… it was there."

"How can you be so sure? They all look the same!"

"No they don't. That bag had a side zipper, as well as four pockets on the front – small on medium, then small on large."

"I… don't understand."

"That's fine."

The conversation was quite distracting; I returned my attention to the bags passing by: black, black, black, red – that was smart, black, black with a yellow tag – how helpful, black with a black tag – not as helpful, dark green, dark brown, black, black with a doll sticking out, pink polka dots – interesting, bl—doll sticking out!

I looked around anxiously for the bag with the doll. I saw it a few yards away, and pushed my way through the small crowd again to snatch it before it repeated its cycle.

"'Scuse me, Sir! Ma'am, pardon me… need to get my bag – it's right there, with the Hello Kitty – please…!" It's interesting how differently people seem to act already, in comparison with people in Vegas. These people are a whole lot more polite – or maybe it's just because I'm in an airport. Everything tends to look more civilized in an airport. I think it's because everything is so shiny.

In any case, I managed to get my suitcase and rolled it out of the airport, taking one last glance back towards the man, who apparently goes by "Mr. Monk," and his friend: she rushed forward and picked up one bag, then two, three, four… wow. That's a lot of bags.

* * *

Aside from getting many stares from inside the airport – I'm guessing it was Hello Kitty eyeing everyone that made them uncomfortable –, the journey to get outside was quick and not a hassle at all. My mission in San Francisco is clear: find Sara. Although, getting a room in a hotel wouldn't hurt. I whistled at an approaching taxi… but it passed me up. I watched it with a frown as it drove past. Looking back up the road I decided to try again.

I saw a taxi.

I whistled.

I got scolded by an elderly woman who smelled too strongly of perfume.

"What're you doing, thinking you can get a taxi before anyone else? Wait your turn!"

"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't think –"

"Then maybe you should think next time!" And with that she waddled away. Looks like I was wrong about how kind the people generally were – and how "original" their retorts were – but I shouldn't judge a population by a few bad apples.

As another taxi came by, I ignored the lady's bickering and whistled again. Fortunately, the taxi stopped this time. Unfortunately, the lady returned.

"Do I have to tell you again?" Do I have to smell you again? Seriously, why do older women wear so much perfume? It's as if they're telling people not to purchase that particular scent, thinking if they ruin it for everyone else, it'll be "their" scent, and they'll have it all to themselves.

I opened the back door of the taxi and stuck my head inside. Aaah… cheap coffee and cigarettes never smelled so good.

"Hey, can you drive 'Granmama' to her lovely house on the hill? It's a bit too early for her, and she'd like to get some sleep."

"Sure thing," the taxi driver nodded and looked back at the old lady, who was staring at me – with anger or confusion I could not tell… not like either of those are good.

"Have a good day, 'Granmama.'" Waving, I turned on my heel and walked up the path a bit, finding a better spot along the boarding station. Not too long after did a taxi stop at my side. Thank you, Karma!

* * *

After paying the taxi driver and for my room in a Holiday Inn downtown, I realized how tight living in San Francisco was going to be. Fifty-some dollars paid just for the ride, and about one hundred bucks a night… I'm thinking the most I could stay here would be till the end of the year: about two weeks. Not that that isn't a long time. It's just… what if I can't find her?

I was able to get a hold of one of the local white pages and started searching for her – or her last name, anyway.

"Sidle… Sidle… Sidle…" I whispered to myself, running my finger down the pages of the "S"s, "… nothing." I pursed my lips and set the book on the desk of my room. It was now that I actually took in what my suite looked like: not that bad at all… it is clean, nice full size bed, good sized tv, those snacks in the mini fridge are pretty tempting…

And then it hit me: exhaustion. I rubbed my face with my hands, focusing on my eyes, and let out a groan.

"Boy, I'm tired…" I took off the messenger bag and fell forward onto my bed. As much as I wanted to find Sara, I didn't want to collapse at her feet when I'd find her. I fell asleep with the lovely image of not having to make my bed in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Since I had taken a heavy nap on the plane ride here, I didn't sleep for long: about six hours. I woke up about a quarter-to-nine, groggy and feeling dirty. I hadn't brushed my teeth, washed my face, and I was due for a shower. By far the taste in my mouth was the grossest. Hopping off the bed, I dragged my feet to my suitcase and fiddled through it looking for a new change of clothes and a toothbrush before I went downstairs for some grub.

* * *

Making sure to take my cardkey, I left my room, feeling very clean and awake. It's just a great feeling when you can run your tongue across your teeth, and it just slides. Strolling down to the elevator, I examined the unique red and gold checkered carpeting. I don't mind hotels much. In fact, after being in them solely to inspect crime scenes, they're not as alien to me as they are to other people. That I am sure of.

In fact, if a dead body were to be in the elevator, I'd probably shrug it off and return to my room to bring my lab kit. No, it's not weird to carry a lab kit when you're away from work. Everyone does it, like… like Grissom.

Grissom…

_Ping._

The elevator door opened. I walked in and pushed the button for the lobby. Even though there wasn't a dead body in the elevator, I couldn't help but feel a change in the tone of the day. Even the minty-freshness of my teeth wouldn't make me smile.

* * *

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

"And what can I get for you, Sir?"

"I'd like the cheese omelet with toast." Due to a sudden feeling of discomfort in the hotel at the time, I decided I'd eat at Mel's – a diner that I overheard some people waiting around for a taxi were talking about.

"And what would you like to drink?"

"Do you have Blue Hawaiian?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You make mochas?"

"Yes, we do."

"Great, I'll have one." With a nod and a smile, the waitress left. I drummed my fingers on the table, staring outside the window. I made sure to get a table by one – I'm thinking since Sara is unlisted, the best shot I can get at finding her is if I spot her by chance.

Oh, yeah, this'll be easy! There're only – what? – half a million to a million people in this city?

Looking outside the window, I didn't spot Sara, but I spotted many things I wouldn't find in Las Vegas. Sure, there was your usual busy crowd of people walking, but there was not people passing porno cards as advertisements, poker chips rolling along the sidewalks, or a pair of shifty eyes per every pair of people poking at valuables. The ugly side of Vegas seemed to have disappeared, and what was left was a still cleaner, busy city called San Francisco. I'm sure there was a pick-pocket somewhere that I just hadn't spotted yet, but none-the-less… the drastic change was something eerie, and yet attractive…

"A cheese omelet, toast, and mocha for you, Sir?"

"Huh?" I turned my head to see a different waiter holding my food, "Oh, yeah! Yeah. That's me." I must've been more entranced by what was outside than I had thought, "Thanks…"

I grabbed my fork and cut at the omelet, putting a piece in my mouth. It was pretty good – and I wasn't very trusting when it came to eggs made without my supervision. Right as I was about to bite into my toast, my phone rang:

_Brrriiing, rrring! _I pulled it out of my back pocket and looked at the caller ID.

_Brrriiing, rrring! _It made me slow my chewing to a stop, "Sara…"

_Brrriiing, rrring! _I could save time and answer, ask her where she is and go to her now.

_Brrriiing, rrring! _But at the same time, I want it to be a surprise…

_Brrriiing, rrring! _What more, I just can't bring myself to answering the phone. I rubbed my forehead and sighed, staring at the phone in my hand.

_Brrriiing, rrring! _"Just answer the phone, Sanders. It doesn't bite…" And just as I was about to answer, my phone chirped a different melody to tell me I had missed a call. I flicked my phone out of my hand and watched it slide across the table.

"Great, Sanders… you did it again. What's wrong with you? You can't even answer the phone…" I bit into my toast in frustration; its sound crunch didn't help to ease my mood, "… call her back." I reached across the table for the phone and flipped it open, my thumb on the "call" button.

"… I can't…" I clamped it shut, "This is ridiculous!"

_Brrriiing, rrring! _I hurriedly flung it back open.

"Hello?" I barked.

"Hey Greggo! G'morning!"

I groaned. It was Nick.

"Hey Nick… what's up?"

"Nothing. Just calling to see how things're going. The team just can't stop talking about you."

"Good for them…" I took another bite from my omelet. It was good. Nothing like cheese to lighten the mood, but still make you feel heavy inside…

"You all right?"

"Yeah… yeah."

"Didja find Sara yet?"

"No. Still working on that…" I let my eyes wander away from my plate to study the scenery inside of the restaurant, taking a sip from my mocha. Definitely soothing.

"Do you need help?"

"Haha, you can help me, Nick?"

"Well, sure I can. I'm sure I can find out where she lives, with a little research of course…"

"If by 'research' you mean 'asking Grissom,' then no way." I bitterly bit into my toast, getting lost in its genuine 'crunch!'

"Nah, Greg. You're not still feeling sore about what happened, are you?"

I dazed into my cup of coffee, letting a moment of silence transmit through the phone, with the exception of the clatter in the diner. I wasn't still sore. No way. I'm forgiving, I give people a chance, I'm a man… but it was just cautiousness I was feeling. Just… cautiousness.

"Of course not, Nick." I raised the mug to my lips and took a sip.

"Great. Hey, want to hear something funny?"

"Besides the fact that you aren't asleep? Try me."

"Well, that's what it's about! You see, when I got home…" and that is when I stopped listening, because from across the diner I saw a brunette. She was breath taking, poised, attractive, and she was making her way out the door.

"Holy guacamole…"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"What?"

"Call you back, Nick…" I hung up and sprung out of my seat, ready to run. Only one problem: I was aware that I hadn't finished my food. Racing between a screaming heart, and a growling stomach, I decided to choose the middle path and snagged my toast as I vaulted out of the restaurant.

"Uh, Sir!" I heard the waiter's familiar voice call from behind me, "Sir!"

I ignored her as I charged through the double doors, toast set in jaw. I quickly scanned my surroundings – where did she go? Don't tell me I lost her!

_Beep—beeeeeeeeeeeep!_

I turned around and yelled as I narrowly hopped out of a car's way. I was standing in the middle of the street. When I got back to the sidewalk, I could have sworn I saw a glimpse of her rounding the corner. Following my gut, I chased after who I thought was Sara.

Yet as I turned the corner, it was as if a cage of people had been unlocked as I was nearly pushed back the other way. I know… horrible thought of a cage filled with people – but I put people behind bars all the time, so…

"Ah!" I lost my footing as some large oaf walked squarely into my shoulder. I regained my balance, and decided the best way to get through the crowd was to play their game and bulldozer through myself.

About halfway through the sea of people, I spotted the girl I took to be Sara once again – and it was her! I was tempted to call out her name, show her I was here, but as I opened my mouth and drew in some breath, my throat seemed to tighten. I coughed through the cigarette smoke some insensitive man had puffed my way. Can't he see I'm trying to accomplish something? Geez, the nerve of some people! Maybe San Francisco wasn't as different from Las Vegas as I had thought…

She disappeared down a flight of stairs leading towards the subway, which, to my gratitude, looked much emptier. I rammed right through what seemed like the densest section of people in the crowd and clumsily faltered down the stairs, catching myself on the railing and sliding down.

"Ahh… where'd you go?" I whispered to myself, frantically scanning the area for Sara's brown head. Unfortunately, I noticed the majority of people who lived in this city had dark-colored hair. To think if Sara had pink hair, this quest would be so much easier. I'd still love her – true beauty is skin deep. But I don't think she'd love me as much for being the one to dye her hair as she slept.

"Aha!" I grinned to myself as I spotted her making her way down yet another flight of stairs.

_Ding-dong. "Inbound: Two car: L-L in four minutes, followed by one car: M in nine minutes, L in twelve minutes._ _Outbound: Two car: N-N in two minutes, followed by two car: M-M in seven minutes."_

"Hope she's not taking that 'N' train…" I muttered to myself as I tried to find a way to the stairs. They were accessible after paying admission, so I hastily coughed up a buck-fifty to the machine and pushed myself through. An eerie shill ran down my spine, like it was foreshadowing something bad – I knew I wasn't going to make it, but I didn't want to accept that. To accept it meant failure – and a real man wouldn't admit defeat.

As I met the bottom of the stairs, an inbound train was waiting at the station, as was the 'N' train going outbound. Sara wasn't on the cement in the station now, but just entering the metal train.

The doors were still open.

I could still make it!

"Hold that door!" I yelled, pushing my way through people making their way to resurface. The station was so loud and busy, though, I doubt anyone heard my call. This entire situation reminded me too well of my bout with Nick in the parking garage not too long ago, only I was the one being chased then.

I watched in remorse as the sliding doors came together and the churning sound of the engine growled.

"Wait! Stop!" I pleaded, reaching the door furthest back on the train. I clamped hands over my ears as I heard a high-pitched, screeching noise from the train. Bewilderingly, my mouth dropped at my luck: a man not much older than me had stuck his foot out to prevent the door from closing. I was speechless, shaking my head for words, babbling. And then, the man spoke:

"Are you getting on, or what?"

The ends of my lips tightened in a content shape. Not the politest remark, but a generous gesture. Snapping back to reality, I slipped into the train and scanned it for Sara. Problem was, it was so crowded I could barely see who stood beyond two feet of me. The door closed and the vehicle leapt forward. I clung on to a pole for balance and gulped. I hope Sara was on this train… I did see her enter it. Maybe she got on the first car? Think, Sanders, think… how can you not remember? Which door?

"Agh… they all look the same…"

"Excuse me?"

I looked down at an elderly woman sitting in front of me. She looked like she was slapped in the face, and was accusing me of doing it.

"Uuh…"

"How dare you discriminate!"

"I'm sorry?"

"You should be ashamed of yourself… everyone is unique in their own way." A younger lady sitting next to her scolded me. I was honestly confused… what were they talking about? I got an idea when the lady then huddled her children close to her and, rubbing their heads, complimented on their beauty.

"Oooh, no! I wasn't talking about your children. I was talking about the doors of this train! Your children look great. Never seen kids like them."

"…I'm very sorry for the accusation," the mother of the children gave a small smile. I nodded back and told her not to worry about it, but the elderly woman still gave me somewhat of an eye. But looking at the kids, I couldn't understand how they could be taken to look alike. One clearly had more prominent lips than the other, and the other was much paler, with shorter hair.

_Next stop: Powell Station._

I've grown to realize that I get distracted way too easily. I stood on my tiptoes, trying to see over everyone's heads, but it still didn't work. I sighed as the train came to a stop. Rubbing the right side of my face, I glanced out the window. I made a double-take as I saw Sara walking towards a train going inbound.

"No!" I yelled and pushed my way through the crowded space and nearly fell out of my train. I looked up, saw Sara inside the vehicle and sprinted.

But by the time I met the butt of the other train, I knew it was too late. Not only did I know, but I admitted it, too. I reconsidered my previous thought, on whether a real man would admit defeat. I was wrong, because if you never accepted your losses, you either never lost – which is impossible – or never learned. In my opinion, a real man knows how to adapt and loves to learn; he's willing to accept change.

As the train sped off I let out a sigh: I need to change. I need to escape from my shy mask and cut _past_ the chase. As much as this scene was running towards Sara, I'm only really running away. I didn't want to confront her… I just wanted to see where she was going, get a clue about her whereabouts. I hate to admit it, but I was being a stalker.

The thought caused shivers up my spine. I should just confront Sara. That would solve so many of my problems – but why can't I?

"Agh!" I kicked the floor, hand running through my hair in frustration. A tap to my shoulder startled me, and for a brief second I thought it was Sara.

I should correct that, because the man had a mustache. I was hoping it was Sara.

"Don't worry, son…" he smiled at me kindly, "The next train comes in ten minutes," and with a cliché tip of the hat, he strode off. No, it wasn't the same man as in the airport, but I couldn't help but feel a recurring theme.

I sighed and flipped open my phone: not a bar. Scrambling up the two flights of stairs, I remerged to bathe in sunlight dimmed by fog. I looked around, squinting. Still looked like city to me, like before I had taken the subway, but I didn't recognize where I was. The fact that I was in a foreign city didn't help. I walked over to a nearby directory so I could find my way back to my hotel room, which is when I reopened my phone and pressed the "call" button.

"Hello? Hey…" As great as your wishful thinking is, it wasn't Sara… it was Nick. I'll confront Sara when I'm good and ready, "Yeah, I'm all right… hey, listen. You said you could help me?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

I found myself standing in front of a door about an hour later. I was huffing, puffing, and I could've blown the house in if I wanted to, but that wouldn't be a good impression. When I called Nick after I had left the subway, I asked him for Sara's address, if he could provide that for me. Since Sara worked for San Francisco's forensics squad, her old information was in the database for when she transferred, so Nick was able to give me her old information.

I couldn't help but feel as though I was somehow doing something wrong, though. Was it illegal to go through a database of private files just to retrieve a friend's address?

This was a small feeling, mind you. It was easily being overpowered by anxiety building up inside me. Nervousness. Excitement. Longing. I had my fingers crossed that, when I rang the doorbell, an old, grumpy man would not answer the door instead.

If I rang the doorbell. That shy feeling I get whenever Sara calls my cell started to swim through my blood. I bit my lower lip and looked around me guiltily. No one was watching. There were a few people roaming the streets, but they could care less about me. It's a city, anyway.

Still nervous, I stepped away from the door and leaned over the railing surrounding the stoop to peek through the window. Curtains were closed, all but a crack. Couldn't see anyone through the crack. I assumed my previous position.

"Come on, Sanders, stop being such a chicken," shuffling my feet, I focused my stare on the doorbell. It was small, round, shiny… except for the little bits of rust creeping along the edges.

Letting out a huge sigh, I shook myself out, "Why is this so hard?" I grunted in frustration. I wonder for how long I've been standing in front of Sara's doorstep. Gathering up my courage, I raised a finger to the doorbell and leaned forward.

"…No." I quickly spun away and marched off the stoop. Hands on my hips, eyes on my feet, I stopped at the bottom, "… yes." I raced back up and raised a fist to pound on the door, only my enthusiasm diminished and I ended up sliding my hand across the wood, resting against the door.

"... I got it." I pushed myself off the door and shoved my hand in my pocket. I pulled out a quarter and tossed it up in my palm a couple times, "…" I threw it up, caught it, and slapped it down on the back of my wrist, "… tails, I ring. Heads, I try again tomorrow."

Slowly, carefully, quietly, I removed my hand to reveal the side of the coin: tails. I put it back in my pocket and shook myself off again.

"This is it, Sanders…" raising my hand once more to the doorbell, I nervously pushed the button and let my hand drop. I grinned and gave a sigh of relief, "… well that wasn't so bad."

Only my action dawned on me, and nervousness engulfed me again. Stumbling over my own feet, I quickly made my way off the stoop and sprinted across the street, not taking notice of incoming traffic or people walking along the sidewalk. I sought refuge behind a parked Honda Civic.

I peeked through the windows of the car, just to see if anyone would answer the door. After a moment of deep breathing, the door opened and I held my breath.

A confused Sara poked her head out of the doorframe. I grinned out of happiness. It was her and not some grumpy, old man! I planted my hands on the concrete to push me to my feet, but I felt a part of the concrete at the same time. And, with great dismay and regret, I watched Sara slink back into her house.

"Sara!" I shot up right as the door shut. Her name rang in my ears. This was getting to be too much, so much it was painful in an irritating way. I really wanted to punch myself.

Then I remembered that there was a special friend waiting for me, in my hotel room.

I ran down the block to find a busier intersection, running into a taxi on the way. I ordered him to take me to my hotel, and I did not realize at the moment how rude or scary I must've sounded, but I just felt so determined.

* * *

Huffing and puffing, I entered my room and ran straight to my suitcase. Simultaneously, I pulled my phone out of my back pocket. It didn't take me too long to pull out a slip of paper from the Hello Kitty doll's shirt and dial the number printed on it, but everything just seemed to be taking up too much time, being such a waste of time. I needed advice, and I needed it now.

The phone was ringing on the other side:

_Brrriiing, rrring! _C'mon, pick up…

_Brrriiing, rrring! _Pick up, pick up, pick up…

_Brrriiing, rri--! _Aha!

"Hello?" A familiar, friendly voice projected.

"Dr. Shimmon!"

"Speaking."

"It's Greg! Greg Sanders? Do you --?"

"Ah, yes. I remember you. Are you in San Francisco?"

"Yes, I am. Listen, I need your advice."

"You don't need to tell me to listen… I knew you'd call. Tell me what's happening."

I fell back on the hotel bed and rambled on and on about my day: the diner, the cell, the chase, the confusion, the man with the moustache, the Nick, the house, the indecision, the chicken… there were many instances where he told me to calm down, and to speak slower, but it would only last for a brief moment or so.

And finally, when I was done jabbering – which must've taken half an hour or so – he hummed that it was time to start the "Plan."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

After talking to Dr. Shimmon on the phone, I ran off to the nearest shopping center – about five minutes away. My hotel was downtown after all.

The talk was more helpful and relieving than I thought it would be. Step one in the Plan was to give myself a reason to be at Sara's house that was somewhat acceptable to me, and hopefully an outsider's eyes, to make it not seem as awkward and invading. It would also give me an objective, motivation for meeting her. And he said it could be whatever I wanted it to be.

I decided I'd buy her a Christmas gift. I figured delivering the present face-to-face would be a classic-slash-corny-slash-cheesy holiday thing to do. You know what I mean, you always see it done in the movies… yet it never gets old. There's something touching and heart-felt about such gestures that usually brings a smile to your face, even if you're not one to appreciate the thing in the first place. If that makes sense.

So now the problem is this: what to get her? Can't be something extravagant, and it can't be something cheap. Simple is nice. Simple is lovely, in fact. But simple could be just about anything: a card, a box, a hat, socks…

"Chocolate is good, too…" I eyed a See's Candies store as a strolled by; but what if she hates their chocolate? I pursed my lips and continued on.

Perfume is too intimate…

Lingerie is a big NO…

Make up is too confusing… I could be sending the wrong message, too…

Gift cards are weak…

Shoes come in too many sizes…

Figurines are… useless…

Sunglasses are interesting, but I hear they aren't demanding here…

A blender is too… no.

"I could get her a stuffed animal…" I stopped in front of the Hallmark store, staring at a few of the most rustic looking teddy bears; the juxtapose between them and some fluorescently colored monster dolls was hilarious. I liked the monster, but something told me she would like the teddy bear more…

"I'll browse around some more…" I stuffed my hands in my coat pocket and decided to board the twirling escalator. The view rising up was nice, you could see people from floors below. It felt empowering to have the distance between them and I grow; I wasn't so weak and fragile as I felt my emotions towards Sara were. The climb up actually helped give me a bit more confidence and boasted my courage.

About a minute later, I was well into the mall when a shop a-glitter caught my eye. The shimmering itself was distracting, but one item in particular outshone the rest. Stepping up to the shop, I held my face against the window and stared at the necklace displayed on the mannequin's bust. A gorgeous pearled necklace… simple, sophisticated, and I could see Sara wearing it on a formal occasion…

I frowned when my eyes trickled over the not-as-beautiful price. Three hundred buck-a-roos…

Is it even all right to get jewelry as a gift from a friend to a friend? That's more of a couple-thing, isn't it?

"This is going to be harder than I thought… I might just stick with the teddy bear…"

* * *

And that I did. After about three more hours of wandering the mall for something simple and friendly, I settled for the teddy bear. I made sure to purchase a visual illusion's book as well… just something I think is pretty cool and she'd enjoy. I know, I know… the dorky side of me is more than obvious, but I think it adds a nice touch to the gift.

I was standing at her doorstep, book and bear in a bag at hand. I spruced it up on the way to her house on the subway – never realized how fun, yet frustrating, tissue paper could be.

I took in a deep breath and straightened myself up. Step one in the Plan was about to be checked off the list – I've made my objective, I have my motivation, all I need to do is execute it, and then it's on to step two, which Dr. Shimmon didn't tell me yet.

"Mmm… we'll see how it goes," is all he said.

"Well… here goes!" I grinned and pressed on the doorbell. And then, as if by reflex, nervousness flushed my cheeks and heat swelled to my head and palms. I freaked. I quickly set the bag down on the doorstep and jumped the stairs, speeding back across the street behind the Honda from before.

"What the hell are you doing, Sanders?" I scolded myself, swearing under my breath as I curiously peered through the car windows. Sara emerged from inside her house and stared at the tribute at her doorstep. She looked around cautiously, kneeled down and slowly inspected it. Couldn't've expected her to grab it right away, having known she's worked against criminal minds for some time, now.

Labeling it as somewhat safe, she carried the tissue-papered bag inside with a soft smirk flowing onto her face. I could've sworn I saw a toothy grin as she closed the door. Yet even her smile couldn't heal the frustration and disappointment I was having with myself right now. I felt like kicking myself – and then I knew it was time to return to the bat cave.

* * *

_Brrriiing, rrring! _

_Brrriiing, rrring!_

"That was fast. How'd it go?"

"It failed. I froze up."

"I knew you would."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The next day I found myself back in the mall, surrounded by that busy and loud Christmas spirit. During yesterday's conversation with Dr. Shimmon, the one after I had successfully delivered the teddy bear while unsuccessfully revealing myself, we concocted a new plan. Or… it was new to me; apparently, he knew I would fail to show my face to her. Tell me, how pathetic is having one's own patheticness predictable? Pretty pathetic.

So, what was this forethought plan? Allow me to present it in order:  
Step 1 – give myself a reason to be at Sara's house

Step 2 – approach Sara's house, present the gift, but…

Step 3 – FAIL

Step 4 – repeat steps 1-3 until…

Step 5 – deem myself ready to present myself confidently

Step 6 – talk to her, face to face

Goal: BEFORE Christmas

We stopped the steps there, assuming that I'd get there at all. It's all right, we've made a plan, we'll just take everything one step at a time…

So what am I doing in the mall? Step 4 – repeating steps 1-3. Basically, I'm looking for another gift.

Walking through the mall, my eyes fell upon that gorgeous necklace I saw yesterday, but my feet didn't want to give my eyes such a pleasure. Or, my feet wanted to save my yearning to do my pocket some major damage. Sure, this whole plan was going to be expensive, but better to have enough money for gifts till Christmas, worst case scenario, than to run out tomorrow. Although, I'm curious to know if Dr. Shimmon would allow himself to execute such an expensive plan…

Yesterday, I got her a teddy bear. What else do girls like? I looked around me, observing the crowd as I meandered. I saw many women: young, old, middle-aged, toddler, single, taken, quiet, loud… it took a girl to throw a tissue in a garbage can for me to realize that girls like things that smell good.

* * *

"Hello! Welcome to Bed, Bath, and Beyond; how may I help you today?" I was greeted by an awfully bubbly girl who looked like if she stretched that fake smile of hers any further, she'd rip her face open.

"Uhm…" I stuffed my hands in my pockets and scanned the store. To say the least, it was very colorful, "I'm… well…"

"May I interest you in our latest lotion?" I saw within seconds a sea foam green lotion with sparkles darting towards my eyes; I'll admit, it made me flinch. This girl was scary.

"Uhm… no," I pushed a finger to lower the bottle away from my face, "But I would be interested if you could recommend some items?"

"Oh, sure," she replied dejectedly, "what sort of product are you looking for?"

"I… don't know."

"A particular scent?"

"What smells good?"

"Are you shopping for yourself?"

"What, me? No!" I felt slightly offended, I'm not quite sure why. Nothing against soap; I love soap. Soap saved me many-a-time from the horrid dumpster dives. Surprisingly, the girl was expressionless, all except a smug-lip.

"Right this way…" Following her deeper into the store, I found many vibrant and subtle scents tickling my nose. It was a nice sensation. Felt very clean, very calming, very intimate.

"Our products range from soaps to facial scrubs to lotions to sprays… if you think you'd put it in the bathroom to apply later, you'd probably find it here. All except for shaving gel, of course."

"Well, I'm shopping for a –"

"Stocking stuffer?"

"Uuuh… no. I'd like it to be a presentable gift."

"Oh. Mother?"

"Friend."

"I see. A girlfriend?"

"You're awfully nosy." I was getting annoyed from all these questions. All I wanted was to get Sara's gift and get out of there. But right after my remark, I couldn't help but feel a little ashamed, "… sorry."

"It's fine. So—" I snapped my fingers happily (yet I'll admit rudely). At that moment, I remembered Sara mumbling one day about a few scents.

"Do you have anything lemon or vanilla scented?" I think I may have made the vanilla-recollection up.

"Yes, we have both."

"Can you show me?"

She led me to the corner of the store, filled with an assortment of spring colors – I guess for some people "Spring" correlates with "clean" because, essentially, everything in Spring is new, and new is, knock-on-wood, clean. She left me to find the two scents myself, however, and shuffled away somewhere. I could care less, since I had made some progress to establishing a gift.

It was when I reached the line that I realized why she had asked if I was shopping for myself: I was standing behind a homosexual couple, apparently not too rare in San Francisco. This realization made me smile...

* * *

I eventually left the store with an assortment of vanilla and lemon scented items – I had a gut feeling she'd like those scents; if you think about it, they're pretty neutral scents. I decided I was going to place them all nicely in a basket. I've seen nicely wrapped and presented items in baskets with nothing but colored plastic wrap. How hard could that be? Worst comes to worst, I can pay someone to wrap it nicely for me.

And, as it turned out, worst did come to worst because it took me forever to find a basket that did not have Santa's face painted on it, or in crazy, clashing colors. I finally found a classic, natural weave basket, but right next to it was a padded, feminine-looking box – the only thing that constituted it as "feminine" was that I wouldn't own it. Maybe Hodges would, but I wouldn't.

Hmm… Hodges. Without an extra thought, I grabbed the weaved basket and moved to purchase it, finding clear plastic wrap as I approached the aisle. As soon as I paid, I'd go to the food court for some lunch, then set off to make this gift look pretty. I remember seeing a gift-wrap center somewhere along the mall. Surely there would be a long line, but I wouldn't mind waiting. I'm going to do be doing a lot of that. Waiting.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

After once again abandoning the gift on Sara's stoop, I returned to my hotel room extraordinarily tired. Maybe it was all the thinking and the walking around. Or maybe I'm suffering from late jetlag… however minute the hourly difference is from here to Las Vegas. I glanced over at the digital clock by my bed: the red etches read five o'clock.

I soon found out that it wasn't jetlag, because this sequence repeated itself for five days more. I'd go to the mall, buy something I'd think Sara'd like, take it to her house, but never present myself, and flee to the hotel. And everyday, I'd arrive at five o'clock. I began to wonder if the clock was stuck, or it was just some crazy coincidence…

"Oh God…" I exhaled deeply while rubbing my face, falling on my back onto the bed, "… maybe a nap would do me some good." Yes; a nap. A brief one… I'll wake up in time to have dinner. As I've been doing for the past five days. Sounds nice… sounds very nice…

"No… not this dream again…" I sighed as I found myself sitting behind a desk, wearing a suit. As my actions during the day have been the same, I've had recurring dreams. These dreams always start the same, contain the same material as the previous one, but end worse than the previous. Then wouldn't it be classified as a nightmare?

"I know I dread what is going to happen…" grumbling, I pushed myself off of my chair and loosened my tie, making for the elevator. The floor I'm on is completely empty, and that's how it's always been: empty. When I get outside the streets are empty, not a single person in sight, no cars traversing the roads, it's just me. After I make it outside, my feet always take me to Sara's house, and once I'd make the cross from the other side of the street to her stoop, I can never make it back.

Why? Because, for some strange reason, my cowardice leads to losing an article of clothing. With every step I take back across the street comes a tie falling off, my jacket being blown away, a shoe getting stuck on the floor, and suddenly the streets fill with life: people, cars, you name it. I've tried not moving at all once before, but a wind blew me over.

I'm always compelled to advance, and yet I'm equally as compelled to retreat afterwards. I suppose it's a lesson – a cruel and unusual lesson. Do I walk forward, and finally present myself to Sara, dressed appropriately and with bravery? Or do I shy away, which isn't safe anymore because of my shame in public due to my clothing's refusal to stay on?

"… what if I meet it half way?" gulping, I observed the now empty streets, and with a deep breath set my foot on the road's path. I continued walking until I was in the middle of the road, perfectly centered between Sara's house and the car I usually hide behind. I grinned. Nothing bad was happening! Maybe now I can rest peacefully.

_Beep-beeeeeep! _I looked around. The streets were still empty.

_Beep-beeeeeep!_ Where is that coming from?

_Beep-beeeeeep!_ I jumped as I felt a vibration in my pocket. Pulling out my phone, I glanced at the caller-ID: Help.

_Beep-beeeeeep!_ Confused, I answered, "Hello?"

_Beep-beeeeeep!_ "Watch your left," a familiar voice said. I looked over my shoulder and screamed as a car was just a foot away from me –

_Brrriiing, rrring! _I woke with a start, as I do every time, only I've never gotten run over by a car before. And I'd prefer to not dwell on the topic of people getting hit by cars…

_Brrriiing, rrring! _I think I still have that car ringing in my head…

_Brrriiing, rrring!_ … no, doesn't seem like it. Looking to my left, I saw my phone flashing its lights at me. Squinting, I picked it up and answered without checking for ID. I knew it wasn't Sara because a very masculine voice beckoned on the other end.

"Greggo?"

"Nick?"

"Any luck with finding Sara?"

I grumbled as I dragged my feet out of bed. I didn't really think it Nick's place to be so inquisitive about my endeavor. But my brain was too shaken up by the dream to refrain from responding.

"Oh yeah. I found her all right. The problem is actually going up to her…"

"You're having troubles confronting her?"

"Yep."

"… why?"

At this point I had just managed to slip on a pair of jeans, staring at my mess of clothes I had lazily put in the drawers provided to me. I scratched my head, the gears in my brain starting to oil up.

"What do you mean 'why'?"

"I mean – you've never had issues talking to her before. Even when it was obvious that you were crushing on her, it was as though you had no shame by the way you came across to her. So open. So extroverted. So…"

"Unafraid?"

"Yeah."

I had put Nick on speaker phone as I buttoned up the last remaining buttons of a white, grey-pinstriped shirt. He had a point. Why was I acting so scared? So… lame? I ran my fingers through my hair and pursed my lips.

"Is there a reason why you called, Nick?"

"I just thought I'd check up on you."

"At this time in the morning? Really? I've been in the profession for far too long, Nick." I carried the phone to the small bathroom to wash up.

"Haha, well I guess it's made you think too hard about things. It's good to hear that you've at least found her. All the best from the crew here in Las Vegas, Greggo."

"Thanks, Nick."

And with a click the call ended and I set it on the frame of the sink. With a flick of the wrist I got the water running, cupped some of it into my hands and splashed it on my face. I did this a few times before I turned the faucet off and grabbed for my face towel. As I dried my face I saw my eyes peek above the towel and into my reflection. I slowly rubbed my neck with the towel then set it aside.

Nick had a point. Why was I so afraid? I stood there, trying to formulate a reason. Perhaps it was because I was led on to believe that Sara cared for me a tad more than Grissom, so I didn't want to somehow mess this opportunity up. But Sara must have liked my overly enthusiastic self from before to have even gotten me to believe that she liked me more than Grissom… right?

I clutched the frame of the sink and leaned over, staring deeply into my eyes, contemplating more.

It took about a few minutes that seemed like hours worth of silence before I came to the conclusion that there really wasn't a reason as to why I was feeling so scared. In fact, what am I feeling now? I scratched my jaw and sniffed, chewing on the inside of my cheek.

And within another tic of the clock I flung on a black vest and sprung out the door.

Next thing I heard was faint shuffling getting louder. I found my breathing was heavy from probably walking too fast. My brain brought my surroundings more in to focus and I straightened up. My eyes shifted as I observed my elevated stance from the rest of my surroundings.

I jumped a little at the sound of rattling of the doorknob in front of me, and hastily brushed my fingers through my hair. And as the physical door opened in front of me, I knew a million, if not a few, opportunities opened as well.

"… oh my God."

"Hey! Miss me?"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Stupid, Greg. Stupid. 'Hey! Miss me?' Was that really what I just said? Really?

A baffled look was displayed on the brunette's face in front of me. As the silence continued to linger, I rocked side to side a bit, a childish smile unrelenting on my face. For some reason, just having Sara standing right in front of me soothed my nerves a lot. I mean, I couldn't help but feel a little bit nervous. But I did not feel as cowardly as I had before.

"Greg!" Sara broke out with an opened-mouth smile. I could tell it was genuine, because my childish one grew in response. Oh, that smile… why was I feeling so cowardly before?

"Sara!" I laughed and did a little tah-dah! motion with my arms. Unexpectedly, but fully welcome, she stepped forward and pulled me into an embrace. I nearly lost my footing that could have sent me tumbling off her stoop. I wouldn't have minded if I did fall, really. I mean, I'd only have the girl of my dreams in my arms lying on top of me.

Oh, how a boy can dream…

"What are you doing here?"

No, not a boy. A man. I came all this way to find Sara. To prove myself a man. A better man. Better than Grissom. But I wasn't about to think of him now. No, not with the lovely Sara Sidle standing so casually in front of me, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she waited for my response.

"Oh, you know… I was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd drop by and visit." I figured speaking to her in the most casual way possible, the most instinctual way possible, was the best way to approach talking to her. But really, I question my means of thinking now. Approaching her? Greg Sanders, get yourself together. Think about how your relationship with Sara used to be – unpredictable and natural.

That's it. I'll just revert it back to that. No need to get my nerves all in a bunch.

"Oh ho… really now?" Sara scrunched up her lips in a tight, puckered smile and folded her arms, leaning against her doorframe. I couldn't help but notice every single movement she made. Every single detail about her. From the slight-but-outright-beautiful messiness of her hair to her plush, crème slippers on her feet. I must have caught her shortly after she had woken up, "Well… come on in, Mr. Sanders."

Moments later, I found myself in Sara Sidle's living room. The rooms were a bit on the narrow side, but the lights shone warmly against the lightly peached walls.

"I was just getting some coffee ready. Go ahead and make yourself at home," she said as she disappeared into another room.

"Well thank you…" my eyes continued to linger around, as did my fingers. Plush linens encased Sara's sofa, a lovely chocolate color. The Persian rug on the floor was a delicious honey color that accentuated the almond color hardwood floors. Hunger moved to the forefront of my brain as, instead of a quaint Christmas tree in the corner of the room, I saw a stack of green sprinkles with colorful skittles splayed across it. Hmm, funny. I was never a fan of a lot of sprinkles…

"It's such a surprise seeing you, Greg…" I turned smoothly toward the direction of Sara's voice returning to the living room. Hunger immediately gone, "Although I have to say… I can't help but feel like I was expecting this…"

"Oh?" I accepted the mug of coffee she extended toward me, and mirrored her movements as she took a seat on her couch, "Why is that?"

"Call it a funny feeling…" she smiled. Oh, that smile. My eyes followed her lips as they continued to move. The shapes they'd make. How they'd pucker with certain vowels. How she'd sometimes talk out of the side of her mouth. Oh, Greg, her mouth is moving for a reason. Look attentive! "… so… what brings you to San Francisco?"

Should have known this question was going to come up. Make something up, Greg! Or… should I? Should I just tell her?

"I figured I was in need of a vacation." S'not like that's a lie.

"You do work hard… but why San Francisco?"

She wasn't going to let me off easy, was she? I smirked. Perhaps a bit of the truth wouldn't hurt me too much…

"It's always nice to spend vacations with people you know and care about."

And then she did it again. She gave me that perfect, beautiful Sara Sidle smile.

"This is true…" and she averted her deep, brown eyes to her coffee. I realized that I haven't even sipped a bit since she'd handed it to me, and wondered if that was at all rude. I smoothly lifted the mug to my lips and took a lingering sip, "… I got your gifts."

And then I spat out all of the coffee I had in my mouth.

No, I didn't actually. But I would have been more than upset at myself had I done so. Probably embarrassed beyond belief. So I instead went for the other alternative: choking. Still as embarrassing, but at least I could valiantly save her lovely furniture, and her clothes perhaps, from being dirtied. Well… so much for being a secret admirer.

"My… gifts?"

"Oh, you know… Mr. Teddy and the lovely set of beauty products," she pointed a thumb behind her beneath the tree. And there, indeed, was the big white teddy bear with the basket of goods I had gotten Sara earlier. Play it off smoothly, Greg. Honesty is the best policy, right?

"Damn, Sara. You're just too smart. I was hoping to pull off the good ol' secret admirer trick. Guess coming here blew my cover."

"Mmm… no," she began with a wide smile, "The lemons did."

I cracked with a smirk. Sara knew me. She knew me all too well. I can't believe I was nervous to just go up to her before…

"So… what are your plans for the day?"

"Me? Oh, well…" I furrowed my brows and feigned looking at my watch, "seeing as how it is now almost ten o'clock… my day is completely free." Insert cheesy grin. Anything is worth seeing Sara beam back at me.

"Great!" she stood up, "Just give me a few minutes to get ready." My eyes watched her lazily as she took her coffee mug back into another room, soon hiding from my view.

"Get ready?"

"Well I'm not going to leave the house like this!"

"So I'm guessing you're not going to yoga." I swirled the remains of my coffee, staring into it's dark murkiness.

"_We_… will be taking a little walk. We can have lunch down by the pier." She returned into view only to start ascending up the stairs leaving the living room to the more personal rooms, I supposed, "How's that sound?"

"How's that sound? That sounds great!"

* * *

"I thought you said this'd be a little walk?" I huffed. We had been walking for about fourty five minutes, and I could feel my collared shirt begin to stick to my skin a bit from the heat being expelled from my body from the constant movement, "Couldn't we have taken a bus?"

"Of course we could have. But it wouldn't have been as much fun."

"So you take pride in seeing me huffing and puffing. I just don't have the city legs you have."

"I don't take pride in it, Greg," she turned her head toward me and grinned, turning back, "Well, okay… maybe I do."

"Too cruel."

"You're just lazy."

"Too true."

And she laughed again. I couldn't help but grin. Even through the heat coursing through my body, the slight beaded sweat collecting on the back of my neck, my unsteady breathing in trying to keep up with Sara's pace, nothing could have been more refreshing than her laugh. Not even being impaled with a cup of water…

Well, I guess a cup isn't really impaling.

A bucket of water.

No, a big bucket of water.

A big bucket of salt water.

Ooh… salt water. I was starting to catch the scent of it drift toward us on a light but hitching breeze. Sara inhaled deeply as we neared closer.

"Let's go see the seals."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

I had never been in a more welcomed environment in my life. The lab had nothing on this. Here, it was just me, Sara, and a bunch of seals having the time of their lives. Just listening to them bark instilled a unique energy and sort of happiness that I had never felt before!

"These guys are hilarious!" I laughed. I leaned over the railing of the pier. The seals down below on this island of wooden planks were quite a sight. They were lazy, because they could afford to be. They were loud, and no one was to stop them. They were entirely childish, and that's what made them so appealing. They were kings in the disguise of oversized rats. And I couldn't be any more jealous of them.

"They can be the cutest little things…" Sara smiled. Believe it or not, I was actually a bit more absorbed in the pile of blundering mammals at the moment. There was something about them that was so intriguing…

"Isn't there the idea that most cute things are dumb things?"

"I don't think it's cute and dumb. Maybe cute and… I would say naïve, but that can be really annoying."

"Maybe it's just the age quality of naivety. You know, the innocence that comes with a younger age, usually associated with naivety at that younger age."

"You mean as opposed to naivety at an older age, which is associated with being ignorant?"

"Yeah, actually."

There was a silence that fit itself comfortably in between us. I had no idea why I brought up the topic I did. I had no idea where I wanted to go with it. In fact, I don't think it could have gone any further than it did.

Actually… no. I could push it further. Let's not be shy…

"Except you don't necessarily have to be dumb to be cute, right?" I asked a bit matter-of-factly, a wide smile forming on my face. My stare stayed fixated on a particularly clumsy seal. It just hobbled on top of other seals, slipping and falling on its side occasionally. But no matter how much it fell, it was able to make it to the edge of the raft they were floating on, and continued to slip into the water.

Well, I guess "slip" is a gentle way of saying it. It definitely belly flopped. But it was so graceful once it got its legs in its comfortable setting. I couldn't help but identify with it a bit. People work through an uncomfortable environment to find where they are comfortable to enjoy life. I may have been uncomfortable for a bit… but that certainly wasn't the case right now.

She gave a soft laugh in response to me. She didn't answer my question, but smoothly changed the subject, beginning to walk away from the edge of the pier.

"Let's go grab some lunch, Greg. I'm pretty hungry. You?"

"Oh, I don't know… I'm trying to watch my girlish figure."

"Oh, don't you even start, Greg…" She didn't say that in a harsh tone. I could tell she wasn't irked. Her joking character came across with her gesture of a playful shove as I took many hurried steps to catch up to her. Oh, how I love this woman…

"How's seafood sound?"

"Sounds fantastic."

* * *

"You know… when I agreed to seafood, I was under the impression that it wouldn't be able to see us…" I looked down at a tank of fish swimming around. I swear they were all staring at me. It reminded me of the whole personifying aspect some vegetarians gave to meat products. If you cut off the head, it somehow made it less human, and more acceptable to eat. But really, it's the same body, just without a head.

Not that I'm about to turn vegetarian or anything. But… those eyes, man.

"Developing a conscience?"

"After fighting crime for so long, one grows on you."

"Haha, but no… I was thinking clam chowder."

"I'm down."

She led me through the frenzy of fish, both alive in tanks and dead in neat stacks (which I was pretty surprised about. I mean, fish are slimy. How can they just lie in stacks and not slip off of each other?), and eventually had a table in a quaint little place still on the pier. It was as though this building had no walls, because the windows were so big, and they didn't have glass through them. I could stick my arm out of them and everything. I could foresee getting cold was inevitable.

And apparently Sara picked up on that as well.

"Uh… do you actually have any seats inside?" Inside? I thought we were inside.

"Of course… right this way," the waiter kindly led us past many more tables, and eventually we were met with a door slightly ajar. He pulled it open and, lo and behold, this restaurant did indeed have walls! Must have been partially covered seating, and fully covered seating divisions. Oh, did I feel a bit foolish, "You can have a seat here." He pulled a seat out for Sara, who nodded at him and took her seat.

I can't say I could fully attribute me feeling hot was because of being indoors now, because we had only been inside for a few seconds. I want to be honest and also say the blood in my veins was running hotter because I was becoming territorial. I eyed the man carefully.

The way he pulled out her chair.

The way he gestured for her to have a seat.

The way he smiled at her.

I knew it was all for show. To get tips at the end of the day. But it was still getting to me. And then, it was soon enough ebbed away.

By the way she smiled back at him.

By the way she said, "Thank you."

By the way she stepped to the side, so he could leave before she sat down.

"You are joining me, aren't you Greg?" she looked up at me. I was still standing. I blushed slightly – hopefully she'd attribute that to the warmer temperature, and hadn't caught me in the animalistic expressions of being territorial. You know, I don't even know how I feel about using that phrase. Being "territorial." You can really only effectively be territorial about objects. About things that belong to you. Sara is by no means an object, but she does belong to me. Or, at least, I'd love her to be…

Guess you can't be territorial over something you don't yet have.

I smiled back and hastily pulled out my chair, "If you'll have me."

I said that in response to her question – but it really meant so much more. I regretted it a moment later when she casually responded.

"Of course. I'd love to."

I'd love it if you did, too.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"After lunch, we strolled along the pier some more. We looked at the mini vendor shops – didn't buy anything. Sometimes you find that couples are buying things for each other while they're together in lieu of other things to do, or things to talk about. But this was not the case at all for Sara and me.

"In fact, the only thing I bought her was a few smiles and laughs. My efforts well spent. Instant gratification. I could do this for a living.

"Soon night was upon us. We strolled away from the pier, hopped on a trolley, and soon found ourselves in the middle of the swarm of city lights. We rode the trolley into inner downtown. It felt so exhilarating, first letting my arm hang out of the streetcar as we rode up and down the hills. I'd look over my shoulder and see Sara smiling widely. She'd first shake her head at me, then grab onto a pole with both of her hands and slyly let her body swing outside of the trolley. The breeze would take her hair and jacket and play with them. One of the two men working the trolley was just catching on to her, I think, about to call her out on being reckless. That's when I reached my arm out to direct her back in, and she just fell nicely into my arms.

"'This is where we stop, anyway.'

"My heart couldn't help but sink slightly when she said that. I knew she wasn't talking about us. No, she was talking about our ride on the streetcar. But, I mean, what if she was talking about us, too? What if she subtly was referring to our friendship staying at most with hugs? What if she didn't want me taking it any further with her? I couldn't help but feel at least a little bit confused, because I felt like holding her – at that exact moment – and the vibe I was getting from her about it all was just so contradictory to the words coming out of her mouth.

"I could only swallow my spit and reluctantly let her slip out of my arms to get off the trolley. After I stepped down from the trolley, I surveyed my surroundings. Lights. Brightly lit lights of every color imaginable, in the most tasteful senses possible, surrounded me. High-end stores opened their doors for me, trying to lure me in. Each window Sara and I passed screamed of high fashion and a somewhat classier sex.

"Don't ask me how that is possible. You know sex sells in advertisements – but the way everything was displayed was not as upfront as your usual storefront. It could have been the nature of the clothing that was being sold – I could see it being hard to sell a pantsuit for women had it not been for the way it's displayed in (not saying that it's displayed in a trashy way – not at all; these ads were in to subtleties).

"But in any case. I knew Sara's interest was not in the material things. She took me by the arm and led me through the crowd of people. She led me past the stores. Past the classy-sex-calling lights, until we were met with a different plethora of lights. Lights that, instead of enticing sexual urges, enticed my stomach…"

"They do say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"That's if you think love and sex are the same thing."

"Do you not?"

"I think sex should be had with someone you love."

"So you do think as the saying goes."

"I, ah, well… I feel like that saying implies that anyone with good food can get you to fall in love with them. As opposed to using food as foreplay, you know?"

"I suppose. What happened next?"

"Right. So, she took me to the place I had first eaten when I got to the city. It was also the place where I first saw her. Or thought I saw her. Then there was that long chase… anyway. You already know about that. The place has a different atmosphere at night. It's funny how you can be in one place at two different times in the day, and just the change in lighting can make it more foreboding, more welcoming, more exotic, what have you…"

"So how'd it look now?"

"Now it looked… well. I liked how it looked, for starters. It was fun! I mean, it's a diner. It just screams of retro-flashiness."

"But did it not scream of 'retro-flashiness' when you were there the week before?"

"… no. It did."

"So then how did it feel different?"

"… it was more welcoming."

"And do you associate that with the fact that you've been there before? Or because Sara was there?"

"… probably because Sara was there. After we got a seat she immediately scrolled through the mini jukebox at the table and selected a song. I don't remember what it was, because it never got to play. She told me that the jukeboxes are so old that they don't always work. But instead of replacing them, the diner keeps them there. It gives them an element of surprise, a pleasant surprise, when they actually do work. And that's only if you get lucky."

"And you guys didn't get lucky that night?"

"Well, I know I didn't get lucky."

"Go on…"

"We sat and talked. Things were going great. We must have spent at least two hours there, finishing up our burger, shake, and fries. The strings of conversation we had were seamless… heh. You know, the sort of conversations you hear people having with their significant other. Or the person-to-be their significant other. The conversations are just perfect. Tangent upon tangent. Unrelenting interest. Awkward moments are even played off beautifully as jokes, or as segue ways into future tangents. That is, until I brought up Las Vegas…"

* * *

"Go back to Las Vegas?" she looked at me with a sudden severity. I felt my jaw drop in stupidity for a moment. But instead of just dropping the subject, or acting as though she misheard me, I continued the conversation as casually as possible.

"Yeah. I mean, how long are you planning to stay on leave for?"

"I don't know, Greg," she smiled at me. Only this time, I didn't find what was necessary to smile back. The smile wasn't genuine. So I gave a half-assed smile back, to try and lighten the mood anyway.

"You know…" I picked up a French fry and dipped it into my strawberry shake. I've been told that these two taste good together like this, "… everyone back at the lab misses you."

"I know, Greg…" she took in a deep breath and shifted her gaze for a moment, "I miss the lab, too." Her eyes followed my fingers as they swirled the fry in the thick liquid, then proceed to bring the fry to my mouth, "Ooh, you did not just do that."

"But I did just do that."

"That's gross."

"I've heard good things."

"Verdict?"

"Fry is a bit soggy," I swallowed and smiled at her, "Think I'll stick to eating them separately, but still consumed together."

"Haha, sounds like a good idea…"

* * *

"And an awkward silence fit itself in between us that wasn't turned into a joke. The next words uttered were to the waiter for the bill, which we split and fiddled over how much to give as tip. Then we proceeded out the door.

"Even though it was quite late out, Sara still wanted to walk back home. I felt empowered a bit, and flattered, that she didn't want to take a shorter, potentially safer way home. That she felt comfortable enough with me to take the time to get back home. That she felt safe enough with me to not think anything could harm her. But, Sara's a strong girl. Always has been. She could take care of herself. But I guess after that experience with the serial killer, you really don't know.

"After a comment or two about the surroundings, random observations, and the like, our string of conversations soon became streamed again. And by the time I got her to her stoop, she was grinning.

"'Thank you for your time today, Greg,' she told me.

"'My pleasure, Sara.'

" 'What're your plans for the rest of your stay? How long are you staying for anyway?'

" 'Oh, you know. I'm not entirely sure yet.'

"She looked at me as though she didn't believe me. I gave her a boyish smile, and a shrug. She smiled softly back, her near-nonexistant bangs blew in front of her face. She turned to go up her stoop to her doorstep. And as she fiddled with her keys, I spat out what was probably the most – just the dumbest thing I could have said at that moment. Even given the conversation we had earlier.

"'Come back to Las Vegas with me.'"


End file.
